Grand Theft Auto: The Soviet Connection
by TheGeorgieB
Summary: Following the events of Grand Theft Auto IV and V, Niko is forced out of retirement when he is hunted by Kenny Petrovic, a powerful crime lord looking to reclaim Liberty City and avenge the death of his colleague: Dimitri Rascalov. Meanwhile, an old enemy returns and a long buried secret is uncovered. (GTA IV and V Crossover, may contain continuity errors).
1. Prologue

**(Just a heads up! The following is a prologue to a piece of fan-fiction set after GTA IV and V, eventually allowing the two stories to cross over. Obviously in GTA IV the player was allowed to make a series of choices. In this case, Niko helped Francis McReary to kill his brother Derrick in the mission 'Blood Brothers', but that's all you need to know for now!)**

* * *

The Soviet Connection

Prologue

Lightning struck twice that night. Francis McReary had never considered himself the superstitious type, but when he saw that second lightning bolt flash, and heard the crackling roar of thunder that followed keenly without failure, he decided to leave his office an hour earlier that night. The Deputy Commissioner took one final swig of black coffee out of his mug that proudly bore the LCPD's emblem. His coffee was cold, and the sickly taste of cold coffee had now glued itself to Francis' taste buds. But Francis had become used to ending his day with a bad taste in his mouth, though this was most commonly due to the kind of scum he had to deal with every day of his working life. Today, Francis McReary had been up to his shoulders in the files of various lowlifes and scumbags who had escaped from The Alderney State Correctional Facility during an unanticipated riot caused by the Lost and Damned Motorcycle Club, who were essentially just _another_ group of lowlifes and scumbags that Francis knew he would one day have to deal with. These files that Francis was required to familiarise himself with had almost bored the Deputy Commissioner to death. Whether it was down to grand theft auto, assault, armed robbery, hijacking, possession of a controlled substance or all of the above, Francis could tell a lot about a suspect from the crimes listed on their files. Tonight, Francis had gotten through a pile almost a foot tall of those files. He grabbed his coat from his peg and swung it over his shoulder before picking up his suitcases, heavy with homework, and taking once last glance at his desk. Beside the foot-high pile of files stood another pile, this one twice as tall, of similar files Francis had yet to look over. There was something to look forward to. For a taster of the kind of scum Francis would have to deal with tomorrow, he picked the file on the top of the giant pail and flicked through it. Though Francis soon wished he hadn't, Francis opened the file to find a mug shot of the suspect and their name. In large, black, bold writing read: GERALD MCREARY.

That was when lightning struck a third and final time. The lightning dazzled the room in a sudden flash of white, before leaving it alone and empty in complete pitch black darkness, with Francis lost in the midst of it. Francis found himself stuck in the middle of a power out, likely caused by the ravaging storm that had reached Liberty City, and was seemingly here to stay. Francis was still and silent, unable to bring himself to move. For as long as he could remember, Francis had been afraid of the dark. At least in the light, you could see the monsters that were sure to be there. In the darkness, you could see, hear or feel them until they had their wet, cold hands wrapped around your throat. By then, it was too late. Suddenly, Francis remembered he was in fact _not_ alone. Ron, the security guy, was on duty tonight. Francis remembered the thoughtless greeting he had given him when he had arrived, and the empty promise he'd made him to go out for a coffee sometime. Francis darted to his desk, moving fast before the monsters found him. He grabbed the telephone of his desk, praying that it would still be working. But his prayers had gone unanswered. What had he really expected? As he held the phone to his ear, Francis heard nothing but dead silence. But that dead silence was disrupted by a long, shrill creak as the door to Francis' office swung open, and a figure cloaked by the darkness stepped inside.

"Hello?" Francis called out to the monster in his room. When he was a kid, Francis checked under his bed for monsters before sleep every night up until he turned fifteen. Now, Francis realised he would have to start checking under his desk. That was, if this monster left his office peacefully. "I know you're out there," Francis assured the monsters as he reached into his jacket and gripped the 9mm pistol concealed in its holster. "Show yourself!"

Lightning struck again. This strike was closer, however, and the roar that followed shook the wood beneath Francis' feet. The flash of white light that filled the room revealed the monster's true colours, but only for a brief second. In that flash, Francis saw a ghost. He could have sworn that, stood across his office with blood dripping from his knuckles, stood his brother Gerald as pale as a ghost. Francis had been right after all, there _had_ been a monsters in his room growing up. But this wasn't the king that hid under your bed. It had always been right in front of him. Sometimes, it even slept in the bed next to him.

"Hello, brother," Gerald replied in a cold, empty voice that made the grey hairs on Francis' neck stand up. "We need to talk," he said as he took steps towards Francis. The wooden floor creaked painfully with every step he took. "We need to talk about Derrick."

The words made Francis' heart sink until he was sure he was going to collapse. But it was Francis' job to lock monsters like this away, even if they were family. "Your brother made a series of bad choices," Francis explained to Gerald, who continued to approach Francis. Francis began to take steps back. "Those choices had consequences," he said, stepping backwards until he felt the bookcase behind him. "And your brother eventually suffered those consequences." Though he was hidden in the relentless darkness of that room, Francis knew his brother was there. He could hear his breath and taste the alcohol in it touch his tongue. "Your brother pissed off _all_ the wrong people, and he paid for it."

Gerald took a deep breath, and put a hand over Francis and against the bookcase. His touch was so heavy that it knocked a book out of its place on the shelf. It landed between Francis' feet. "He was your brother too," Gerald reminded Francis, his voice so heavy that Francis felt he was being punched, although that could have been the reek of whiskey on his breath.

Francis then thought about his own words. It appeared _he too_ had pissed off the wrong person, and he was about to pay for it. "Why are you here, Gerald?" He asked, still playing the innocent, even though no other man in the city had as much blood on his hands as him.

"Because, there's no crime worse than fratricide, Frankie," Gerald explained to his brother. "The only thing possibly worse is matricide, but Ma's been dead inside ever since Derrick died, so you might as well have killed her too." Though each one pained Gerald to say, the words seemed to roll off his tongue so naturally. He wasn't looking at his brother any more, he was looking at a monster. And in every story, the hero always killed the monster.

"Gerald, please, you don't know what you're talking about," Francis urged his brother as he tried to wriggle his way out of his grasp, but Gerald threw him back against the bookcase, and wrung his fat, hairy hands around his neck. Hands that were soaked with fresh blood, likely belonging to Ron the security guy, and were as cold as ice with every touch.

"You ordered the hit on Derrick," he said straight and plainly to his brother, who surprisingly did not deny the accusation. "So, who pulled the trigger?" Gerald asked, his hands tightening around Francis' fragile neck. He was like a toothpick in Gerald's grasp; with very little force he would snap easily. Francis began to struggle for air, his arms flailing helplessly, but two words came clearly with his final breath.

"NIKO. BELLIC," Francis uttered with the only breath he could muster. Gerald, whose whole world had been changed by those two simple words, was so lost in the moment that he didn't release his grip on his brother's neck. He only watched as Francis' eyes rolled backwards and up inside his skull. He released his grip, and his brother's body fell limp to the floor. Within minutes, Gerald was gone. By the time the Deputy Commissioner's body had been discovered, the storm had passed. Lightning struck one final time in the distance before leaving the city to its rest, and the thunder that followed was soft and comforting. Children no longer needed to be afraid. Not of the monster, nor the storm that had joined it.

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**Hope you guys enjoyed this short piece of fan-fiction. It's essentially a set up to what the story I have planned is all about. Things get pretty crazy pretty quickly after this. So, if you did enjoy it and want to see more, please leave a REVIEW below, and FOLLOW/FAVOURITE to keep up to date with the story!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-George**


	2. Chapter I: Wild Cards

Grand Theft Auto: The Soviet Connection

Part I: Monsters And Men

Chapter One: Wild Cards

Kenny Petrovic was not a patient man. It didn't matter whether it was for a job to be done or his coffee to be made, he was not a fan of waiting around. In this case, Kenny Petrovic was waiting to be delivered the head of the man who murdered his business partner. He sat twiddling his thumbs impatiently, trusting that his men were doing their best work to find the man responsible for the death of Dimitri Rascalov. Dimitri had been in Liberty City on business for Petrovic, but a deal with Jimmy Pegorino hadn't ended as well as Kenny had hoped when one of Pegorino's hired guns had tracked Rascalov to his base of operations and shot and killed him and his men. Another associate of Petrovic's, Ray Bulgarin, had then claimed the shipment of heroin, but he was shot down in his jet, along with the supply of heroin, by yet another wild card Petrovic hadn't anticipated. Now, Pegorino, Rascalov and Bulgarin were all dead. They had it coming to them, Petrovic had decided long ago. All three men were greedy, thick-headed oafs who should have quit the business a long time ago. Not like him. Kenny Petrovic had only become stronger and wiser through his many years in the business that had taught him many lessons. The most important of these lessons had been the thing that had kept him alive all these years: there's no honour among thieves. It was something Petrovic reminded himself day after day. No matter who he was selling his product to, buying weapons from or trading vehicles, Petrovic constantly told himself that the men he was dealing were all monsters deep down. Once upon a time, they had been men, but they had shed that skin to reveal the creature beneath. The creature that lied, cheated and killed to get what it wanted. Over the years, Petrovic had learned to embrace the monster inside of him. It was what kept him alive, and reminded him that any man who shook his hand, drank with him or offered him an alliance, could turn around and slit his throat at any moment. It was the monster inside of him that ensured Petrovic was always the first to make such a move. Niko Bellic, the thug responsible for Rascalov's death, was a monster unlike any Petrovic had encountered. The man was ruthless, and seemingly untouchable. If his search for the man had taught him anything, it was that Niko Bellic did not want to be found. And a man who doesn't want to be found always has something to hide.

Petrovic stepped into the office next door. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see, but he had hoped his men would have been able to be a little bit cleaner than they had been here. The police officer, still gagged and bound to the creaky wooden chair that was now stained with his blood, was sat with his head back, as though he was gazing up at the stars. But Petrovic soon realised that he had fainted. He nodded at Ivan, whom he had left in charge of the officer's questioning, who then approached his prisoner and clicked his fingers in front of him. When that didn't seem to wake him, Ivan slapped the officer across both cheeks, until a sudden coughing fit from the officer suggested he was still alive, and hadn't choked on his own blood or puke like Petrovic had begun to fear. Petrovic stood back, engulfed by the shadows, his arms folded. He was becoming impatient once again. Sergey then stepped forward, a power drill in his hand. Ivan stepped back, leaving Sergey to his work. Petrovic had always recognised Sergey as the gifted torturer he was. Today, he was about to prove him right again.

"Where. Is. Niko. Bellic?" Sergey asked the officer, who was beginning to reek of his own urine, as his grip on the power drill tightened. The police officer squealed and squirmed, and Petrovic grinned as he watched from the distance, where he wouldn't stain his suit with the officer's blood. Ivan began to laugh also. Sergey had asked the officer again and again for Niko's location. From the get go, the officer had sworn to have no knowledge of Niko's location. And he was probably telling the truth, but Sergey did not care either way, all he cared about was making the pig squeal as loud as he possible could. Even if the police officer _had_ known anything, he wouldn't have been able to share his knowledge, as Sergey had gagged his mouth with a bloody cloth. The sick joke Sergey was playing still made Petrovic and Ivan laugh. Petrovic had realised long ago that he'd never need worry about a man like Sergey crossing him, he was simply having far too much fun.

The cry of the power drill made Petrovic's heart beat faster and faster as Sergey held it closer and closer to the officer's eyeball. Ivan couldn't look, instead he shielded his eyes and covered his ears. But Petrovic never took his eyes off Sergey and the police officer. The power drill was mere inches from the officer's pupil now, and it was about to pop his eyeball like a balloon filled with red paint. That was when Boris reared his ugly head.

"STOP!" He cried from the doorway. He put his hands on his knees as he panted like a dog from the run over there. Eventually, he turned to whisper something in Petrovic's hairy ear.

"We found him," he whispered. As soon as he got the word, Petrovic raised his hand to Sergey and Ivan, signalling to stop. For now, at least. Sergey dropped the power drill as Petrovic followed Boris out of the dark, damp office that had been turned into a dungeon.

"You got lucky," Sergey whispered to the police officer with sinister pleasure. "Pig."

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Two days later, the LCPD would find Officer Perkins asleep in a dumpster behind the Burger Shot in Broker, with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. Or so he would tell them. If he ever _did_ get stupid ideas of telling his people about Petrovic and their questions, where they'd taken him and attempting to go after them, Officer Perkins would remember the sound of the power drill that was held mere inches from his eyes, and he'd quickly forget any such ideas. Petrovic lived by few rules. But one of those few was never to kill cops. Sure, he lived outside the law, and sometime she would take an ear, and eye or a nose to keep the LCPD from forgetting who really ruled Liberty City. But at the end of the day, cops were just men trying to do their job. Petrovic had a job too, and if he did it right it meant he and the LCPD would never have a problem. Officer Perkins would have to remember that too.

Officer Perkin's squad vehicle had been torn apart. The windows and doors had been removed, and the engine had been stripped bare of parts. Inside, Petrovic watched as Boris' eyes bounced from the screen of his laptop to the computer monitor inside the car. The LCPD computer was linked to their criminal database, which stored information on every known criminal, their location and their activities. This was something Petrovic had already taken series precautions to keep his men off of, and if they ever did pop up as blips on that database, Petrovic didn't consider him or her a member of his organization any longer. Boris had the computer inside the squad car linked up to his laptop through a number of red, yellow and black wires. He watched excitedly as his laptop slowly but surely loaded a page.

"Is this your guy?" Boris asked as he span the laptop around to reveal what was on its screen. Petrovic saw a photo of an Eastern-European thug with brown hair and a clipped beard. Beside the mug shot was the name: NIKO BELLIC, who had accordingly been arrested for grand theft auto. Petrovic smiled as he stared into the eyes of Rascalov's killer.

"Russian," Petrovic mumbled under his breath. "He's Russian…" This Niko Bellic had slaughtered men of his own nationality. Fathers, Husbands and Sons who had come to Liberty City with a dream, just like he had. And yet, Mr Bellic had denied these fellow men the freedom they had all earned when he murdered them on the same boat he'd fist arrived in.

"Well?" Boris asked, confused as he watched Petrovic mumble to himself. Had he made a mistake? According to the LCPD database, _this_ was Niko Bellic. "Is he your man or what?"

"No," Petrovic said. "Not man." Petrovic turned to Boris. "He is monster."

**CONTINUES IN CHAPTER TWO.**

**Thanks for reading the first chapter of my Grand Theft Auto Fan-Fiction. Although this chapter focused on Kenny Petrovic and his men, we will see Niko again very soon! So, leave a REVIEW with your thoughts on the story so far, and I'll get the next chapter uploaded as soon as I can.**

**-George**


	3. Chapter II: One Minute

Grand Theft Auto: The Soviet Connection

Part I: Monsters and Men

Chapter Two: One Minute

**(Just another heads up! Obviously in GTA IV the player was allowed to make a series of choices. In this case, Niko chose the REVENGE option as his final decision in the story, meaning that Kate was killed by the assassin, and Roman lived! Anyway, hope you enjoy!)**

"This is it," Boris announced from the driver's seat as the black cognoscenti slowly came to a halt. He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, drew a cigarette, put the carton back, pulled out a lighter and lit the cigarette. As a heavy smoker, this was a sequence Boris repeated almost hourly. Little did he know, it wouldn't be the cigarettes that killed him. "Guess I'll just wait here," Boris decided as he dragged on his cigarette. Seconds later, he blew out a puff of smoke that seemed to grind Petrovic's gears, who sat in the passenger seat beside him. Petrovic sat there, smoking his beard as he judged Boris silently.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Petrovic asked Boris in a voice that was quite but aggressive enough to make Boris shudder in fear. Petrovic glared at Boris.

"Okay, fine! I'll roll the fucking window down!" Boris said as he grabbed the handle under his window and rolled it profusely until the window was rolled all the way down. "Happy?" Boris asked Petrovic in a tone of voice that must have come off as disrespectful and sarcastic, because Petrovic continued to glare at Boris. He took another drag of his cigarette.

Behind him, Boris heard Sergey and Ivan step out of the car from their backseats, slamming their doors behind them. Petrovic, still glaring at Boris, nodded to Sergey, who now stood outside Boris' door. The door was pulled open. Suddenly, Boris was heaved out of his seat, dragged out of the car and flung into the street by Sergey. He felt the bridge of his nose collapse as he hit the hard, solid cement. He rolled onto his back, blood squirting out of his broken nose. He struggled to spit out a single word without stuttering. "Wh… Wh… What the fu… Fuck was that!?" He cried as he wiped wet, sticky bloody from his face where it had smudged with the back of his sleeve. Petrovic, Sergey and Ivan stood over him.

"You think you can sit here and smoke, jerk off and listen to radio whilst we get to work?" Petrovic barked at him, fuelled by rage. "You take for some kind of fucking yokel? Do you!?"

"No! No, no, no, no, no!" Boris assured him as he sat up, waving his hands in denial.

"Then get off ass, and come do your fucking job!" Petrovic spat the order at Boris before giving him a look full of daggers. He then looked both ways before crossing the street.

Boris reached his arm out, hoping to be pulled up by Sergey or Ivan, but both men ignored him and followed Petrovic across the street. Instead, Boris picked himself up and dusted himself off. "Animals," Boris uttered under his breath. He could taste blood in his mouth, and realised his nose was still bleeding, so he tilted his head back and pinched his nose as he crossed the street so as to keep the vile taste off his tongue. Petrovic, meanwhile appeared to adore the taste of blood. Boris had simply disrespected Petrovic, and he'd walked away with a broken nose. If this Niko Bellic had truly committed the crimes Petrovic was accusing him of, there wasn't any chance he was going to walk away at all.

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At approximately 6:37am that morning, Deputy Police Commissioner Francis McReary was found dead in his office at the Westminster Police Station in Algonquin, Liberty City.

"McReary was found by his partner, Hollis Tenpenny," the news reporter explained, her pink work dress glowing attractively on the TV screen. "Detective Tenpenny found McReary hanging from a rope in his office, where the Deputy Commissioner took his own life."

Niko shook his head in denial and continued to flick through the news stations, each one refusing to stay quiet about the Deputy Commissioner's death. "Bullshit." Niko cursed at the idea that Francis McReary had taken the cowards way out and strangled himself to death. He refused to believe it, because he knew it to be a lie. McReary was a cockroach. The only way to get rid of him was by crushing him. And as Niko could see, someone had done exactly that.

"Francis McReary died at the age of 45," the next news presenter informed, this one was a black male wearing a black suit and a red tie that caught Niko's eye. "Despite being a son of the McReary family, who had many ties to various crime families across Liberty City, Deputy Police Commissioner Francis McReary remained an uncorrupted member of the law enforcement. He died an honest and brave man and will be sorely missed by many."

That too was a lie Niko wouldn't swallow. But Niko knew, despite everything he had done, Francis would be remembered for the good he had done, as little as there was of it. Perhaps that was for the best. Niko began to wonder what exactly he himself would be remembered for when he switched his TV off and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

Niko was about to take a swig of the glass when is cell phone began to ring. Niko set the drink down, pulled out his phone, cleared his throat and finally took the call.

"Hello," he said unenthusiastically, expecting to hear from yet another caller offering the cheapest insurance you could buy, or asking Niko to take part in an important survey.

To his surprise, he heard the unmistakable voice of his cousin. "Niko! How are you, cousin?"

"Roman!" Niko replied happily. Of course, there was still a chance his cousin was calling to ask to borrow some money. "I'm… not too bad, actually," he replied, surprising himself. "How are _you_ doing, Roman?" Niko asked as he put his feet up comfortably.

"Fantastic, cousin! And I have big news," Roman claimed excitedly. "My Mallorie is having twins! _We_ are having twins!" Roman announced, almost unable to contain his delight.

Niko sat up. "Roman, I'm so happy for you! This is wonderful news," Niko said happily.

"Yes, indeed!" Roman agreed eagerly, though his tone soon turned serious. "And I stand by what I said, as much as I'd love two sons, if we _do_ have a daughter, I'll name her Kate."

Though he appreciated Roman's offer, the thought of Kate, and so little as the mention of her name, still made him blue and filled him with regret. He missed her more than anything.

"Cousin? Are you still there?" He heard Roman ask, pulling him out of his melancholy trance.

"Yes, cousin. I'm here," Niko assured him. "Thank you cousin. I'd like that," he said sincerely. Suddenly, he heard a beeping noise through the phone's speaker, suggesting another call. "I'm sorry, Roman. Someone's on the other line. I have to go, but I'm so happy for you."

"Go ahead, Niko," Roman encouraged him. "It was good to speak to you. Take care."

Niko wiped a tear that had welled up in his eye. Whether it was from the thought of losing Kate or having little nephews or nieces running around his home, he couldn't have been sure.

"Hello?" Niko said as he answered the second phone call that had interrupted his moment.

"Listen very carefully," the voice on the other end instructed Niko. It was one he did not recognise. "Two men are coming to kill you," it said. "You have one minute."

An intense silence followed. "Who is this?" Niko finally asked, but the line had gone dead.

Niko checked his watch. It was 9:23am. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He remained in his seat as he twiddled his thumbs nervously. He thought he heard footsteps outside his apartment, so he grabbed the glass of whiskey in front of him and raised it to his mouth. He took a long swig of the whiskey until the glass was empty, the burn afterwards made him wince and grit his teeth. His heart continued to vibrate until he checked his watch a second time. It was 9:24am. Niko felt his heart stop suddenly and sink into his stomach.

The pounding on his door began. Someone was beating their fist furiously against the front door to Niko's apartment. A door that could only take so much force. Niko approached the door. He reached out to grab the knob and swung the door open. As the voice on the phone had predicted, two men stood at his door. Niko recognised them both instantly.

"Hello, Niko." Patrick McReary stood on his doorstep, his brother Gerald at his side and towering over him. "We need to talk," he said as he raised his gun, pointing it in Niko's face.

**CONTINUES IN CHAPTER THREE.**

**Thanks for reading The Soviet Connection! A few of you guys have left me some feedback already (which I really appreciate), but I would love some REVIEWS for this chapter! Then, of course, I'll get the next one uploaded ASAP. Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed!**

**-George**


	4. Chapter III: Brothers in Arms

Grand Theft Auto: The Soviet Connection

Part I: Of Monsters and Men

Chapter Three: Brothers in Arms

"Fuck," Niko cursed, gazing helplessly down the barrel of Packie's pistol. Slowly, he raised his hands up in front of him, surrendering to both McReary brothers. Whatever this argument was about, Niko wasn't going to win it with a gun in his face. "What is this about?" He asked.

Patrick sighed as his grip on the pistol tightened. He pressed the barrel to Niko's skull. He could feel the cold bite of steel on his skin. "This, Niko, is about my brother. _Our_ brother," he explained, gesturing towards Gerald, who stood at his side.. Niko felt his heart stop suddenly in his chest as he heard Packie's gun click. "You're going to pay for what you did," he said.

"Wait," Niko urged. He hadn't come this far to be shot on his own front doorstep. "Packie, Gerald, listen to me." He took a deep breath. "I know Francis and I had our differences, but I can assure you, that I had nothing to do with his murder. _Nothing_ to do with it!" He assured them both, even know Gerald knew all too well that Niko had not been responsible for Francis' death. As a matter of fact, Francis hadn't been the brother Packie was referring to.

"What?" Packie asked confusedly. "I wasn't talking about Francis!" He shouted at Niko, who was now just as confused as Packie was. "I was talking about Derrick!" He explained furiously, waving the gun in Niko's face. he then turned to Gerald. "Wait… Francis is dead?" He asked.

Gerald stared at his feet regretfully. He hadn't intended for his brother to find out his way. Now, it was only a matter of time before the whole truth came out. "Yeah," he admitted.

This sent Patrick McReary pale, as though he was ready to vomit. For a moment, Packie struggled to stand, the world around him was wobbly and unbalanced. "I don't…" His eyes shot back to Niko. He snarled angrily at him and raised his gun back to Niko's temple.

"You fuck!" He screamed at Niko. "You murdered Derrick in cold blood and now you go and kill Francis too!? So, what? What, were you trying to… to cover your tracks? Pretend none of this ever happened? HUH!? IS THAT IT!?" He bellowed at Niko in a mad fit of rage that scared both Niko and even Gerald, who was no stranger to going a little crazy sometimes.

"I killed Derrick, that much is true," Niko confessed, looking back at Packie with an apologetic look on his face. But it would take more than that to fix his wrongdoings, of which there were many. "And I'm so sorry things turned out that way," he said sincerely. Niko had been forced by Francis to murder Derrick. However, he often wondered whether it should have been Francis he shot between the eyes. "But I had nothing to do with Francis' murder," he explained, and he spoke truthfully. This had been the work of another. "I swear," Niko said.

Packie cursed Niko one last time as his finger tightened on the gun's trigger. "Fuck you, you-"

"STOP!" Gerald bellowed as he stood forward from where he had been watching this heated conflict play out. He leaned closer to his brother. "He's telling the truth," Gerald told him.

"What are talking about?" Packie asked Gerald, whom he couldn't believe was trusting any word to come out of Niko's mouth. Packie had made that mistake before, but never again.

"Niko didn't kill Francis," Gerald explained, his tone dead with seriousness. Only moments ago, Gerald had pounded on Niko's door and accused him of murder. Now, it appeared he was about to save his life. "I did," he confessed, and Niko watched the realisation sink into Packie, who had just had the rug pulled from underneath him. "I killed him," Gerald said.

"I killed him because he was an evil, manipulative, crooked scumbag and he deserved to die," Gerald said plainly to his brother, as though his actions were entirely justified.

For a few seconds, Packie was silent. He merely stood in front of his brother with an expressionless on his face. Then, in a sudden eruption, everything feel apart.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Packie cried as he threw himself faster than lightning at Gerald, sending them both tumbling past Niko and landing violently with a loud crash on his coffee table.

Niko could do nothing but watch as the two brothers wrestled with each other, kicking and gouging at each other in the blood and broken glass. They rolled across the carpet, kicking, punching, head butting and even biting each other as the fight, which appeared to have been overdue for as long as the boys had been brother, continued to play out in Niko's apartment.

"If I die, I'm taking you with me," Gerald shouted back at his younger brother, whom he'd always been able to best in a fight. However, since they'd stopped being kids, it appeared Packie had learned how to fight dirty. Gerald realised this only when Packie sunk his teeth into the arm Gerald had wrapped around his neck in his best attempt at a headlock.

Niko watched as the two brothers fought like they had done when they were both still in diapers, squabbling and quarrelling over nothing and slowly driving their parents insane.

Niko sighed and shook his head as the two brothers continued to squabble like children. He then noticed the gun Packie had dropped when he'd tackled his brother to the floor.

"Let go of me!" Gerald ordered Packie, who had been much easier to boss as a little kid.

Packie had his hands around his brother's throat when he heard the click of his own gun.

Over them both stood Niko, both hands gripping Packie's gun, pointed in their direction.

"You fucking idiot," Gerald cursed at his brother, who still wrung his hands around his neck, thought his grip had loosened when he saw Niko. "You just got us both fucking killed!"

"Quite!" Niko barked at the bickering brothers. "Now," he said, eyeing them both down the pistol's barrel. "How are we going to do this? The easy way, or the hard way?" He asked.

Watching the brothers exchange nervous looks down the barrel of the pistol as he held them at gunpoint, Niko felt in control again. Powerful. He had forgotten how good the feeling was.

* * *

It was 9:26am and the sun had been lost to the clouds as East Hook became shrouded by shadow, as though the life and energy had been drained from the entire district, leaving it empty, dark and cold, much like East Hook's inhabitants. Except, perhaps, for one.

"So, I take it you to see the merchandise?" Brucie Kibbutz assumed as he welcomed his guests to _Brucie's Executive Lifestyle Autos_, gesturing them further into his auto shop.

"No," Kenny Petrovic denied bluntly. "I'm here strictly on business," he explained sternly.

"Oh," Brucie realised. He stood up straight, his posture suddenly changing from so laid back and relaxed to formal and strict. He pulled down the collars of his tracksuit, realising it may not be the best outfit to discuss business in. "Sure," he said. "We can talk business."

But Petrovic hardly appeared impressed. He nodded at Ivan and Sergey, a signal only those two natural born killers recognised. "I'm glad you're so willing to co-operate, Mr Kibbutz."

Ivan and Sergey approached Brucie until they stood inches from him, making Brucie nervous.

"Listen, maybe we should do this-" but Brucie was interrupted when he felt Ivan's boot hammering down on the back of his leg with brutal force that threw him on his knees.

Brucie cried in pain, even though Ivan had been what he considered to be gentle.

"We're looking for someone," Petrovic explained over Brucie's cries as he stepped forward menacingly, like the villain that hid in the shadows, finally revealing himself in the third reel.

Sergey pulled out his 9mm, pressing the barrel to Brucie's skull, and cocked the gun.

"You're going to help us find him," Petrovic informed Brucie, who was helplessly on his knees.

"Why…" Brucie could barely spit he question out over his whimpers. "Why _me_?" he asked.

"Because," Petrovic began, "you know this man," he explained. "And this man is hard to find." He began to circle Brucie in a way so sinister it made his skin crawl. "This man also killed over one hundred of my employees." Finally, Petrovic stood before Brucie, who was now sweating profusely in a panicked fit. He leaned down to his level. "So," he said, "you're going to tell me everything you know about Niko Bellic, starting with where the man lives."

**CONTINUES IN CHAPTER FOUR.**

**Keep the reviews coming, guys! Really grateful for all the feedback so far. Should hopefully get the next chapter uploaded this weekend.**

**Take care,**

**-George**


	5. Chapter IV : Line of Fire

Grand Theft Auto: The Soviet Connection

Part I: Monsters and Men

Chapter IV: Line of Fire

Hollis Tenpenny never took his eyes off the two men as they approached the apartment. Hollis sat in his car, watching every move they made. Although he did not recognise them, the man with the shaved head in the shirt as green as a clover was clutching the grip of a pistol tucked conspicuously in the back of his pants. The men crossed the street, turning their heads left and right as they walked, as though they were almost expecting to be watched.

How Hollis chose to proceed now could change anything As far as Hollis could see, these men were here to kill Niko Bellic. The same Niko Bellic Hollis Tenpenny had been investigating for the last six weeks, following the fall of the Pegorino empire; something Hollis believed Niko had had some involvement in. He took a sip of his coffee, which was so piping hot it burnt the detective's tongue. No matter, Hollis remembered the plastic cups they sold takeaway coffees in always gave them a bitter taste. The two men had stepped inside the apartment building now, and Hollis realised he had only minutes before they reached Niko's doorstep.

The detective pulled out his phone and dialled the number that his reliable source on the inside had skilfully got a hold of for him. After a few short seconds, a familiar voice answered.

"Hello?" Niko Bellic asked impatiently, as though Hollis had called at a bad time.

"Listen very carefully," Hollis instructed in a voice much deeper than his own. "Two men are coming to kill you," he bluntly warned. "You have one minute," he explained, assuming Niko knew what to do with this information. He hung up, having said what needed to be said.

Hollis checked his watch. It was 9:23am. Hollis could only hope that by 9:24am, Niko would be ready. The last thing Hollis wanted was for Niko to be shot in his own apartment right now. This wasn't because Bellic deserved to live. In Hollis' eyes, he was a monster that, if anything, _needed_ a bullet between the eyes. Hollis simply wanted to be the one to pull the trigger, and refused to be beaten to it. Hollis checked his watch again. It was 9:24am.

Hollis Tenpenny must have nodded off at some point. He had, after all, been on duty all night. And he certainly hadn't gotten a wink of sleep following the news of his partner, Francis McReary's supposed suicide. Although, Hollis himself was still leaning more towards the theory that Francis' death was only _made_ to look like a suicide. Sure, the deputy commissioner had plenty of reasons to want to take his own life, but he'd lived with them for so long, why would he choose to give up and die now?

He awoke, bag under his red and tired eyes, to see the two men become three. The man with the shaved head and the clover-coloured clothing was walking, accompanied still by his burly bodyguard, now with a third man, who seemed to be leading the wolf pack from behind.

It was 9:32, and Hollis' coffee had gotten cold. His drive to bring Niko Bellic down, the man whom he believed to be responsible for his partner's murder, had never been higher.

* * *

"Get in the car," Niko instructed Patrick with a firm tone that made Gerald's blood boil even more so as he watched Niko hold a gun to his own brother's head as he was forced to climb inside the back of the car. "I said get in the fucking car," he repeated aggressively when Packie ignored his instructions. Even no, Packie still stood, staring at Niko with a blank expression that suggested that Niko could hurt him as much as he wanted, but Patrick _refused_ to be his prisoner. His brother had balls, Gerald could see it now.

Unfortunately, however, Patrick McReary had become a man a little too late. He and Gerald had already been beaten. There was no sense in fighting it. "Just do what he says," Gerald told his younger brother begrudgingly. Gerald McReary had always been a hothead, a rebel and just a troublemaker in general. But even he was smart enough to know when it was time to step down. The last thing he wanted was to go back to jail, but he preferred that to the alternative: being buried under six feet of soil.

Packie sighed as he sat in the back seat of Niko's grey Esperanto. He gave his brother a look of daggers. "Don't talk to me," he told him. "Don't even look at me, you piece of shit." He sat on his hands, which Niko had tied together with plastic cuffs so tight they dug into Packie's skin, drawing blood. He was Niko's prisoner now, and was hating every second of it.

"Listen to me, Packie," Gerald begged his brother. There was something he needed Patrick to hear. "When I told you that Francis deserved to die…" He took a deep breath. "I meant it," he said, and Packie's eyes filled with rage. He wanted nothing more than to tear free of his handcuffs and strangle his brother. "I did it for _us_," he explained. "If Francis was enough of a cold-hearted bastard to go after his own blood, how long until he'd have put a price on our heads? Huh?" He asked his brother. They both knew the answer. If Francis was still alive now, it would only have been a matter of time before he'd decided that they too were liabilities like Derrick. "Dammit, Patrick! I was trying to protect us! I was trying to save this fucking family!"

Although he was busy cuffing Gerald's hands too, he heard every word. He understood and even appreciated Gerald's motives. But it didn't mean he had to like it. Either way, this monster was going back to the prison he'd broken out of. Niko just had to take him there.

Gerald watched the words sink into Packie, who eventually turned to face his brother. He had turned the lightest shade of white, like a ghost, and stared at his brother with cold, hateful eyes. "Fuck you." He spat in his brother's face, but Gerald did not retaliate. It appeared that even Gerald could see that he'd gotten what he'd deserved. He slammed the car door shut.

Gerald then turned to Niko behind him. For some reason, he tried to justify his reasons to him too. Even though Niko had long since lost respect for the man. "I was trying to save this family, Niko," he told him as he hung his head in regret of what he'd been forced to do.

Niko's expression was also blank. "Well, congratulations, friend," he said sarcastically as he put a hand on Gerald's shoulder. "It looks like you tore it apart instead."

Had Gerald's hand not been tied, he might well have punched Niko in the nose, but not even that would fix this spectacular mess Gerald McReary had made.

Niko's phone rang for the third time that hour. He turned from Gerald, who was watching Niko's ever move with a hateful gaze, to answer. "Hello?"

"Niko!" A voice cried alarmingly. Niko recognized it immediately. "It's Brucie!"

"Brucie, hey!" Niko replied, happy to hear from the friend he's long since drifted apart from. "What's going on, man?" he asked.

"Niko. Shit," Brucie cursed in a panic. "I'm so sorry, man. I told them. I- I had to. They tortured me – were gonna kill me! I'm sorry, Niko. You have to get out of there!" He warned.

But Brucie was too late.

From the bottom of the street, Niko could see a couple of SUVs, a black cognoscenti between them, driving up the road, fast approaching him. Niko hung up the phone. He didn't need to know anymore. "Get in the car," he urged Gerald, who had also noticed the oncoming threat.

"Not a chance," Gerald grumbled. Even if his hands _were_ tied, he wasn't sitting this one out.

The SUV's came to a screeching halt, flanking the black cognoscenti which stopped only metres from Niko and Gerald. Armed men came flooding out of each vehicle, rifles, pistols and baseball bats in hand. Out of the black cognoscenti stepped a suited man, stroking his beard as his eyes scanned Niko up and down. When the man decided he recognised Niko, he began to smile. "Niko Bellic," The man said in a slick Russian accent as he clapped his hands together. "You are hard man to find, do you know that?" He laughed as his men pointed their guns at Niko and Gerald both. "Of course you do," he said, still stroking his bushy beard.

"Excuse me," Niko said as he reached for the gun in the back of his pants. "But who the fuck are you?" He asked, gripping his pistol tightly, ready to draw.

The Russian with the beard smiled even more now. It appeared Niko's ignorance amused him. "My name is Kenny Petrovic," he told him. "And you, Niko Bellic, owe me a debt."

"I don't owe you shit," Niko replied defensively, making Petrovic and his men all laugh.

Kenny eventually raised his hand at his men, signalling for them to stop laughing. "You would do well to show me some respect, Niko Bellic," Petrovic suggested. "You might live longer."

But Niko curled his nose. "Fuck you," he cursed, angering Petrovic and his men.

One of the men from the black cognoscenti approached Petrovic. "Say the word and we shoot this piece of shit to pieces," he whispered in his ear, but Petrovic shook his head.

"No," Petrovic urged him. "We need this one alive," he said as he watched Niko tighten his grip on his pistol. His eyes then moved to the man who accompanied Niko. The man he did not recognise. "_This_ one, however, we do not," Petrovic decided. "Light him up," he ordered.

Niko heard Petrovic's cold, raspy voice make the order. He turned to Gerald. But, before he could shout to him to take cover, Niko heard Petrovic's gunmen start to fire.

He drew his pistol and threw himself across the street behind a parked blue sentinel. He heard countless bullets ring out, a piercing sound that, even now, devastated Niko's eardrums. He felt the bullets fly past him. Some even hit the car he took cover behind. But Niko knew they were merely trying to scare him. These people wanted Niko alive, meaning they weren't going to hurt him. Not enough to kill him, at least.

Unfortunately, Gerald was not as valuable to them as Niko. When the guns fell silent and the sound of bullets finally ceased, Niko bobbed his head over the car's rear, the metal now torn apart by bullet holes, to see Gerald's body lying in the street, bleeding out.

From his cover, Niko watched Petrovic step forward. He seemed impressed when he saw Gerald sit up, his hands covering the parts of his body, now gushing with blood that was wet and sticky between his fingers, where the bullets had torn though his soft flesh. Gerald breathed heavily as he continued to bleed out. Niko could hardly believe what he was seeing. By the awestruck look on Petrovic's face, Niko would have guessed that he couldn't either.

"God Almighty," Petrovic said, stunned by Gerald's superhuman strength. Although, he could easily have been mistaking strength for sheer determination to survive, for which, Gerald McReary was infamous. "In all my years, I've never seen anyone like you," he said, almost admiring Gerald. He sighed. "Pity," Petrovic said as he drew a 9mm pistol from the inside of his jacket, "you would have made quite a soldier." He raised the gun, and pulled the trigger.

Whether it was at the sound of the gunshot penetrating his ears and rattling his skull, or the sight of the bullet bursting through Gerald's head and spraying flesh and blood across the street's concrete, Niko quickly turned away, his fist and his teeth clenched in furious anger.

"NIKO!" Petrovic cried. "Your friend is dead! Come out now, and nobody else gets hurt!"

Petrovic was talking bullshit, and Niko knew it. A lot more people were going to get hurt before all this was over, whatever this was all about. But across the street, Niko could see Patrick sill sat inside his grey Esperanto. If Niko continued to hide, it would only be a matter of time before Packie was found and disposed of the same way his brother was. Niko decided then, that wasn't going to happen. He'd already been put through enough.

In one slow movement, Niko stood up from his cover, raised his hands above his head, and dropped his gun before taking slow steps towards Kenny Petrovic, who, when he saw Niko, began to smile. "Okay," Niko said, "I surrender."

**CONTINUES IN CHAPTER FIVE.**

**Thanks for all the feedback so far, guys! Keep the REVIEWS coming! Also, FOLLOW/FAVORITE to keep up to date with the story (sorry about this chapter's extreme lateness). Chapter Five should be up by the end of the week!**

**-George**


	6. Chapter V: Call to Arms

Grand Theft Auto: The Soviet Connection

Part I: Of Monsters and Men

Chapter V: Call of Arms

When the last SUV disappeared down the street, now painted with his brother's blood, Patrick McReary finally crawled out of Niko's grey Esperanto, which had violently torn apart by the bullets of Petrovic's men; its tires flattened and its windshield shattered. Packie had been lucky to make it out of there alive. But lucky was exactly the opposite of how he felt right now, as he gazed upon his brother's corpse.

And just like that, Packie was alone.

His only other siblings were all dead and buried, meaning Gerald's death made Patrick McReary an only child. In a matter of seconds, Packie's world had collapsed in front of him.

His hands still bound by the plastic cuffs Niko had left him in, Packie had to push himself along the backseats of the Esperanto before kicking the car's door from its hinges. The car was so wrecked, the broke from its hinges with very little force, and Packie was free.

He stepped out of the car and approached his brother's corpse.

Gerald's body was ridden with gunshot wounds, still leaking blood across the now wet and sticky concrete around Packie's feet. His eyes were still open, so Packie got on his knees.

As he knelt in his brother's own blood, Patrick McReary silently cursed the men responsible as he gently closed Gerald's eyes for him, allowing him to sleep for ever in peace.

In a desperate attempt to break free of his cuffs, Packie grabbed a shard of glass he spotted on the concrete between his feet. It was also spattered with Gerald's blood, but it was the key to Packie's freedom, all the same. He used the sharp shard of glass to cut through the plastic cuffs, which it did so beautifully. With that, Packie was free. But the sick feeling in his stomach that made his blood boil and his heart beat furiously still remained.

Niko Bellic was still out there, and Packie wouldn't be done until he found him.

Quickly, Packie crossed the street, noticing a payphone just opposite him. Niko had taken Packie own phone from him seconds before he cuffed his hands, forcing Packie to dig into his pocket for spare change. He dropped a couple of silver coins into the payphone and picked up the receiver. He took a deep breath and dialled a number into the phone. A number he'd hoped he would never be forced to contact. A number that he would only ever dial if he had no other choice. And right now, Patrick McReary was all out of choices.

He heard the low, daunting sound of the phone dealing play through his ears.

His heart was thumping furiously in his chest. It stopped when Packie heard a voice.

"Hello?" a cold and distant voice asked from the other side.

"Hi," Packie replied, his nerves making his voice high and shaky. "This is Patrick McReary. A… friend told me to contact you if I have a problem that needs… dealing with," he explained, using euphemisms wherever possible. "Well, I think I have something for you."

"Okay," the cold voice said understandably, fully aware that Packie was referring to another human being. "This _problem_ of yours, does it have a name?" The mystery man asked.

"Yeah," Packie replied excitedly, aware he had found a professional. "His name is Ni-"

The line went dead, and all was silent, until Packie's eyes found the man with his finger on the phone's hook, killing the call, and silencing the mystery man on the other side.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Packie shouted angrily at the stranger, who had just ruined Packie's chances at finally bringing Niko down for good.

But all the stranger did was smile back at Packie, almost mocking him. He then pulled something out of the inside of his jacket. At first Packie thought it might have been a gun.

It was a badge.

Packie's heart sank. "Don't worry kid," the police officer reassured him. "I just wanna talk."

* * *

Everything was dark.

The cold and wet concrete below rushed up to meet Niko as he was dragged from the backseats of the SUV by two Russian-sounding men and thrown to the ground. His hands were bound, his mouth was gagged and his eyes were blindfolded. He heard conspiring voices whisper and men laugh cruelly as Niko shuddered and squirmed helplessly. He could feel the cold of the wet puddles he was sat in, result of a storm that had passed and was about to hit the city. But they were far outside the city now. From the sound of engines and the smell of oil, Niko guessed they were at the Francis International Airport. He felt one of the men's fat fingers on his face as he untied the blindfold around Niko's eyes. Though it was mostly hidden behind the clouds, enough of the sun still remained to almost blind Niko.

The man in the suit stepped forward.

"Do you know who I am?" Kenny Petrovic asked after having stepped forward. He towered over Niko. "Answer me, yokel," the fat man demanded, his eyes judging every inch of Niko.

The last man to give Niko that name had winded up dead in a ditch in East Hook. Niko reminded himself of this, but it wouldn't do him much good now. Petrovic was accompanied by almost two dozen men, whereas Vlad had been alone. "I know who you are," he said.

"Good," Petrovic said, gazing down at Niko. "Then you know why I am here."

Niko only nodded. He could still feel Gerald's blood on his shoes, there to remind him of the monster Petrovic was. Niko decided he wasn't going to give _this_ monster the satisfaction.

"I am here, Niko Bellic, to take back what is rightfully mine," Petrovic explained. "My city," he proclaimed as he stretched his arms out wide, as though he was trying to say that everything around them was his own property. "One month ago, around the time you murdered my associate Dmitri Rascalov, a shipment of heroin went missing from the Platypus," he explained before kneeling down to Niko's level somewhat patronisingly. "I trust you remember the Platypus?" Petrovic asked. And he did, as though it was yesterday.

It was the ship Niko had first arrived in Liberty City on. It was also the ship aboard which Niko had murdered Rascalov and his men. Niko nodded.

"A large shipment of heroin, _my_ heroin, was taken from the Platypus shortly after Rascalov was killed," Petrovic continued. "He was supposed to sell it, you see?" He stroked his beard as he spoke. "Eventually, it ended up in the hands of Ray Bulgarin. I trust you remember him too?" Petrovic asked curiously. Niko knew the name instantly, and Petrovic could see that.

Bulgarin had come after Niko several times. On neither occasions had he been successful, but Niko had been looking over his shoulder ever since. Now, however, Petrovic was about to explain why Niko need not worry.

"Shortly after, Bulgarin attempted to flee the country with the shipment of heroin which, need I remind you, he had no entitlement to," Petrovic explained, and Niko noticed the rage in his eyes. It appeared they had a mutual hate for the psychotic pig that was Ray Bulgarin. "But the fat oaf got himself killed by some hired gun before he could even leave the city," Petrovic went on, a faint smile appearing on his face. "His plane was shot down, along with my heroin. As much as his death satisfies me, it also cost me $250,000,000 dollars."

Niko gulped. He knew exactly where this is going.

Petrovic stepped closer to Niko, who could now feel Petrovic's rancid breath on his face. It tasted of whiskey and cigarettes.

"Since it was his pretty boy bodyguard that shot down that plane, Tony Prince now owes me a quarter of a billion dollars," Petrovic explained as he chewed on his cigar before blowing a puff of smoke in Niko's dirty face. "And, because you're the yokel that killed Rascalov in the first place, and cost me a good deal, you're going to help me collect my money."

* * *

**Hey, guys! Sorry it's been a while since my last update, but at long last here is the latest chapter of The Soviet Connection! This chapter is more of an explanation of what the hell is going on, but things are about to heat up for Niko and, well, everyone really! Next week, Luis Lopez, Tony Price and others return as the stage is set for a final showdown. I can't wait to share it with you guys (so I guess I better start writing!), but in the meantime, I'd be grateful for some REVIEWS. You guys have left some great feedback so far, so keep it coming!**

**Special thanks to PhoenixFlame6 for offering some contructive criticism a few chapters back! Relaly grateful for the help, dude, and I'm glad you care about the story enough to do that :) Also, a couple of people have asked when GTA V will come into play. While I don't want to spoil anything, Part I (which takes up about ten chapters) is focused solely on Niko, and takes place straight after GTA IV, meaning we're still seeing things four or five years before GTA V. Part II will pick up five years later, meaning it will take place after GTA IV and V, so we'll finally see Niko cross paths with Michael, Trevor and Franklin. Which I'm so excited for, and I hope you guys are too!**

**So, thanks again for reading, you guys! And I'll be back next week for more! Don't forget to FOLLOW/FAVORITE this story. Also, leave a REVIEW and I'll give yous some thanks in the next chapter (how does a character named after you sound?).**

**Thanks!**

**-George**


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